April 24, 1929
My father’s birthday.
Born on a depression farm, he
Wore little overalls, a pencil in the pocket,
And a solemn face on his first day of school.
Later, eating a whole wedge of watermelon,
He wondered what the fuss was about.
Now he forgets the strife but fears forgetting
The future frets him. His eyes, maculate,
Focus on his family, his life, his legacy, in love.